“Of course not, Will. But something happened and the people feel the need to blame someone. The Federation is an easy target, and blaming the Federation allows the people to avoid pointing fingers at each other. Still, this was bound to happen and catch us unprepared.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was on the Council for a time,” Seer explained. “And I advocated for a larger and better trained security staff. The Council had grown complacent, feeling we were off the usual pathway of Romulans or Cardassians and didn’t have anything to be worried about.”
“Aggressive races usually turn up sooner or later,” Riker said.
“Exactly right,” Seer said emphatically. “Exactly right. I wanted us ready should someone turn up in orbit. Instead, I was told the treasury couldn’t handle such expenditures for at least another generation. Trade was growing, but slowly, and my fears were unfounded.”
“What happened?”
“I was seen as a one-topic candidate and was not reelected,” Seer said with some bitterness. “Instead, when Chkarad was named Speaker, he asked me to stay on. Since I was thinking of the stars, it made sense to him that I be trained to represent the planet to visitors.”
“What if they came with weapons, not open hands?”
Riker heard the sigh before looking over to see the strained look on Seer’s face. Seer said, “Then I’m the first to be shot. Or eaten, I suppose.”
“Not a cheery thought,” Riker said.
“Not at all. Once the war ended and we were contacted to sell food, I was suddenly a man in demand. It was nice meeting with delegations from the Federation and specific member worlds. The first thing we did was send seventy metric tons of grain as part of the Cardassian relief effort. Chkarad wanted to make sure we were counted among the more enlightened worlds.”
“So, you’ve been a busy man,” Riker said.
“Rather too busy at times,” Seer admitted, banking the craft as it neared the shores of Tregor. It was a rocky coast, barren of the lush vegetation just a few miles inland and slick with the residue from waves that crashed every few seconds. Further inland, things got drier and greener, and they flew low as Seer pointed out some of the trees that were unique to the continent.
“The only good to come from the sales has been increased revenues, so I’ve begun speaking again about planetary defenses.”
“Makes sense. Are you winning the argument this time?”
“No,” Seer said bitterly. “Now we’re an important supplier, so Chkarad feels Starfleet will respond more quickly should the need arise.”
“The man’s a fool,” Riker replied. “Member worlds do not receive response based on importance at a given time. It’s strictly based on need.”
“But don’t your ships patrol sectors with more strategically important worlds?”
“Our borders obviously receive a bit more attention,” Riker agreed. “But elsewhere, we travel each sector fairly evenly. I will admit a few of the sectors may not see ships very often, but that’s only because we took heavy losses during the war. You can’t replace hundreds of vessels overnight.”
“No, you can’t,” Seer had said. “Another point I raised. And besides, I wasn’t speaking only about extraterrestrial problems but internal ones as well. I never could have imagined our two races suddenly having a falling out, but rebellions of different kinds were certainly possible. All our people are primarily trained to handle, out of the usual crimes, are natural disasters, and there hasn’t been one of those for five years.”
“You’re lucky,” Riker said. “On many worlds, these things happen all year round. But if your disasters are that infrequent, I can see where the Council may grow complacent.”
“So I stand as the lone voice,” Seer said. Once again, the flyer adjusted course and this time they were headed deep into an interior valley. Nestled at the bottom of the valley was a town. Riker noted it seemed well-established, probably among the first in the area. It was fed by two different rivers nearby and protected by the rising slopes of hills and mountains.
The flyer was now over more familiar terrain, and Riker actually recognized landmarks from the day before. He thought about Hust and his family, seeing a murder and his father in hot pursuit of the killer. But what of his father’s hunt for Bison? Were Bison and the journalist somehow connected?
Once again, Seer smoothly landed the craft and quickly they clambered out. Riker didn’t bother to enjoy the fresh air or the terrain, but pulled out his tricorder and did a quick scan for bodies. No one was within a kilometer of them, so the farmhouse was empty. He nodded the all-clear to Seer, who dipped his head once in understanding. Grimly, they set out for the murder scene.
It was a few minutes’ walk from the landing field to the house, and the silence bothered the first officer. Normally, a farm should have been filled with animal sounds, even insects. Instead, there was the barest hint of a breeze and that was all. The sun was bright in the cloudless sky, making everything pastoral to the naked eye. The house was another nondescript affair, two-story and wide, painted a pale violet. Behind it was a huge barn, flanked by tall silos, all painted an uninspired white.
“An Haslam An,” the stocky male peace officer said by way of greeting. Seer introduced himself and Riker, and then the trio went to the house.
“I understand the murder took place around midnight,” Seer said.
“Yeah. Col Hust Col heard screams all the way over to his place and notified us. My night man rushed right out here, but by then it was too late. Probably too late by the time he got the call.”
“What did he find?”
“Fox Denks Fox, the owner of the farm, was kneeling beside his wife’s body. Blood was everywhere, and he was crying uncontrollably.”
“He in custody?”
“Yeah, but he hasn’t said a word since the attack. Sleeps and cries and stares. I’ve got people watching him just in case he tries to send himself after her.”
“Good,” Seer said.
“May I go in and look around?” Riker asked.
Haslam shrugged and gestured to the house. Riker nodded and pulled out his tricorder while Seer stood by.
The tricorder provided a new sound as it was activated and Riker bent low, scanning the steps leading to the wraparound porch. Seer stayed behind him, scanning the horizon, a hand providing shade for his eyes. The day was warm and pleasant, perfect for working the land.
Slowly, Will went from the porch to the doorway and finally into the house. Adjusting the settings, he waved it from room to room until they reached the bedroom, set upstairs in the farthest corner of the house. Inside the bedroom, the huge canopy bed was a mess, the sheets soaked with blood. More blood had spilled from the bed to the hardwood floor. There were scratch marks on part of the floor, and a similar mark on a post at the foot of the bed. Everything else was immaculate.
Will shut off the tricorder, pocketed it, and just stood, looking. He imagined the fight, the knife flailing until it found its target, and then the death. The blood hadn’t splattered but pooled. From the smudges in it, Riker suspected that was where the farmer knelt over the body of his wife and remained until he was arrested.
“Let’s go see him,” Riker said, and turned on his heel.
“Won’t say much of anything, but sure, why not,” Haslam said.
Within minutes, they had reached the edge of the town. It was small, squat, and uniformly dull, much like the rest of the planet.
They had gone past several blocks, and Riker took in the peaceful life of a town. Assayers’ offices mixed with mining suppliers indicated the mountains nearby were still ripe for the picking. These establishments gave way to a variety of small jewelry stores, with holographic projections showing off the individual designs. Riker found himself slowing down to look at some of the creations. When time permitted, he knew he’d be back to select something for Deanna.
Seer noticed that Riker had slowed his pace and walked over to him. That, in turn,
caught the attention of the others and within moments, five people were clustered around a holographic display.
“That an emerald?”
“Sure is, Will,” Seer said.
“The cut is pretty nice,” Haslam said admiringly.
“Do you think the setting is too ornate?” Riker asked.
“Depends on the woman. Is she the ornate type?”
Before Riker could reply, the sound of breaking glass caught their attention. They turned to see a man hanging halfway out a broken shop window, his back sliced up by the remaining shards still in the frame. At the man’s neck were two black-clad arms. Then a red-gloved fist emerged and struck him as he dangled.
An Haslam An broke into a run, but Riker and Seer were only a step behind him. When they got to the store-front, the victim had been hauled back inside, but someone else had been tossed through the door. Literally through the door, which splintered into many wooden pieces. Tripping over him on their way out the door were two other men. The sounds of a full-scale brawl were clear in the morning air.
Alerted by the noise, two peace officers, a Bader and a Dorset, came running toward the store. Haslam hefted one man off the street and roughly tossed him to his counterpart, who more gently placed him out of harm’s way. The officers then rushed into the store. Riker had already withdrawn his phaser and was ready to stun the entire crowd. Haslam shook his head violently, indicating he’d prefer that weapons not be used. Respecting the local authority, Riker holstered the weapon and waited to see if he was needed at all. The question was quickly answered as the Bader officer came tumbling out of the store, a piece of clothing clenched in one fist.
“Enough of this!” roared the peace officer.
He waded into the store, manhandling one brawler after another, tossing them aside or out the door. As they emerged, Riker and Haslam lined them up against a wall. Seer was tending to various bloody lips or cuts. The man who had torn up his back on the glass was lying on his stomach at one end of the line. Within a minute, the final man was shown the door and then slammed up against the wall with a whoof of expelled air.
“Now, what started all this?” Haslam demanded.
Not one of the brawlers looked him in the eye. The street seemed to be receiving most of their attention. A few were flexing their hands, either massaging bruised knuckles or getting ready for round two. Haslam walked up and down the line, studying the men, recognizing none of them. He was flanked by the two officers, neither of whom were looking their best.
“We’ll lock the lot of you up until I get some answers. Call for a medic and for a wagon. Let’s get them out of here.”
“I don’t know if we have enough cells to keep them isolated,” the Dorset officer said.
“If they know what’s good for them, they’ll behave themselves no matter where they get locked up,” his counterpart added with a growl.
“If you don’t mind,” warned the Dorset, “I’ll take care of my own people as I see fit.”
“I do mind, since we’re in this together,” the other replied. “If more violence occurs, it’ll make us both look bad, and I’d rather not look any worse.”
“Gentlemen, please,” insisted Haslam.
“You’ll mind what I tell you,” the Dorset officer said, and turned his attention to the men against the wall.
The Bader officer leapt across the space and tackled his counterpart. Haslam reached out to grab them both. He couldn’t get his hands on either of them long enough to maintain a grip. Finally, he looked at Riker, who needed no prodding. The phaser was out and fired in a second, and the two men lay still. Immediately, the phaser was aimed at the men against the wall.
“Thank you, Commander,” Haslam said, catching his breath.
“Don’t mention it.”
“I never thought I’d see something like this,” the peace officer said with obvious disgust. “It’s here, too, isn’t it?”
“An Haslam An, you have my apologies for this incident,” Riker said gravely. He was more disturbed by the suddenness of the attack than anything else.
Riker stepped back and let his mind process everything he had seen and heard over the last hour. He knew there were pieces that connected but hadn’t allowed himself the opportunity to concentrate. He wandered away from Seer and the others, enjoying the sun’s warmth and the quiet.
There was a pattern to the contagion. Was there a pattern to the odd eruptions of violence? Riker tapped his combadge and asked Data to filter Picard’s incident reports and chart their progression.
“Data to Riker,” came the expected call several minutes after additional peace officers had arrived to clear the scene. A medic was still tending wounds before moving people. Seer was acting as nurse while Haslam was coordinating events with people back at his office.
“Go ahead, Data.”
“You were correct. There has been a pattern to the protests and violent incidents. In fact, the origin point is your current location.”
“Send the information to my tricorder. Can you tell where the next occurrence will be?”
“I can only hypothesize a westerly direction based on the available data, sir.”
Seer walked over, getting close enough to overhear the conversation. He received a welcoming expression from Will.
“There may not be a specific destination, Data.”
“Do you know what the significance of this pattern is?”
“If I’m right, my father is behind each of these events.”
“On what do you base that assumption?”
“We haven’t seen him and in each case, a horrible situation has been defused. By extension, he might be continuing to help out. Deanna said earlier he might have chased El Bison El out of some sense of obligation.”
“Interesting.”
“What’s happening with the other test subjects?”
“They are in sickbay, currently being examined by Dr. Crusher.”
“And the biofilters didn’t pick up anything?”
“No.”
“Then we’re to assume the ship’s crew will be unaffected by this,” Riker said hopefully.
“So it would appear.”
“Thank you, Data. Riker out.”
Will turned toward Seer and jerked his thumb west. “What’s out that way?”
“Next big city over that way is Keslik,” Seer replied.
Keslik here we come, Riker thought.
As she patrolled the streets of Testani, Vale could hear people calling out to one another, seeking help. No one was laying blame, for which she was thankful. Retardant foam was being sprayed several blocks away, and it seemed to be slowing the fires down.
Shouts caught her attention, and she jogged down a dirty block and rounded a corner in time to see a small mob forming around a Dorset woman. They were shouting angrily.
“What did you do?”
“Why is the city burning?”
“This is all your fault!”
The woman, on her hands and knees, certainly didn’t look like a troublemaker of any kind.
One of the men in the crowd turned and picked up a ceramic planter. Vale gripped her phaser tightly, readying herself to protect the woman’s life. The man hefted it over his head and screamed obscenities at the woman, who began to wail in fear and confusion.
The others began egging the man on, wanting him to cause pain. However, he didn’t seem as eager, just angry. Whatever common sense he had left must have been fighting with his feelings, and he hesitated.
Then he reared back, ready to throw.
The woman shrieked.
Vale calmly raised her phaser and fired at the planter, shattering it in the man’s hands. Ceramic bits and pieces rained down around him. Several turned to face Vale, their faces twisted into confused looks. The Dorset woman sobbed loudly.
“That’s enough,” Vale said as calmly as she knew how. “She’s done nothing wrong. Now, go home. All of you.”
“What’s Starfleet going to do ab
out this?” one of the men yelled.
“Our doctors are working with your doctors trying to find out what’s happening to the planet,” she said.
At the word “doctor,” some of the people stepped back and away from each other. Others looked around in confusion, none offering to help the woman off the street. Vale stood her ground, phaser at the ready.
Within two minutes, the area was clear except for the woman, who remained prone on the street.
“You’re not gonna shoot me, are you?”
“Have you done anything wrong?”
She shook her head, tears once more running down her cheeks.
“Then I have no reason to shoot you, do I?” Vale reached down and offered a hand, making certain the phaser was still in plain sight. The woman looked at the phaser and then scanned the area. Finally deciding things were safe for the moment, she accepted the proffered hand and struggled to her feet. Her face was smeared with grime and streaked with tears.
“You go home, too,” Vale said gently.
“Will I be safe there?”
“Safer than out here.”
“This won’t hurt a bit,” Crusher said as she laid the Dorset woman on the diagnostic bed.
“That’s what Dolog said, and he was rough,” the woman replied. She struck Crusher as being nervous and it was perfectly understandable. She and the other two test subjects had been brought to the Enterprise in the last few minutes, with little notice, and it was just another jarring moment for them.
After it became clear their presence had something to do with sudden violence, the next logical step was a direct examination. Crusher prided herself on her diagnostic skills and was hoping they would stand her in good stead. They had to, since an entire planet was counting on success.
The question remained, as always, success against what?
While Nurse Weinstein and the others on her staff settled the other test subjects on beds, Crusher checked the basic readings now coming on screen. She immediately matched them against the baseline readings she had taken from members of the Council and from Wasdin’s own files at the Medical Center. The autopsy results remained on a side screen, and Crusher consulted it regularly.
A Time to Love Page 14